


Unsent

by Lady Sarai (lady_sarai)



Category: Ella Enchanted - Levine
Genre: F/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-27
Updated: 2007-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_sarai/pseuds/Lady%20Sarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella didn't give up writing to Char--she just stopped sending her letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattador](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattador/gifts).



> Written for Mattador in Yuletide 2007. Huge hugs and thanks to NutterZoi for commiserating and hand-holding and beta-reading!
> 
> (The last paragraph is indeed lifted directly from page 192 of the paperback edition.)

My dearest Char,

 

I have done a terrible thing. I have lied to you. Hattie didn't write that letter, I did. I want nothing more than to marry you, to be your wife, but I cannot. I loathe the idea of the pain and grief I have caused you, but it can be no other way. If only I could still remain your friend--you are the only light in my life.

 

I am cursed, Char. When I was an infant, the fairy Lucinda cursed me with the "gift" of obedience. Whenever I am given a direct order, I must obey or I become terribly ill. I have stomach pains and blinding headaches and I shake. It feels as though I am being ripped in two if I do not obey. I am free to disregard a _request_, but an order I am hopeless against.

 

For example, if you said to me, "Marry me, Ella" I would have no choice but to do so. If you said, "Please marry me," or "I do wish you would marry me and be my wife," I would be under no compulsion to obey.

 

But I _would_. Oh, how I would, my dearest, my darling, my beloved. Oh, Char, I love you. When I received your letter, when I read your declarations of love for me, oh, how happy I was. I danced around the room by candlelight and it was only because my candle burned out that I didn't answer you at once.

 

It is for the best.

 

As much as I wish that I could marry you--oh, how I wish it--I cannot. If we married, someone would discover my curse. I have been ordered to never speak of it, but surely someone would notice if the _queen_ obeyed orders from anyone who spoke to her. And if someone discovered the curse, they would use it. Oh, my love, they would use it.

 

I could be ordered to kill you. To slip poison in your drink, or smother you with a pillow in the night. And I would have no choice but to obey.

 

I cannot marry you. I wish there was another way to tell you this. A way to tell you at _all. _

~*~

 

My love,

 

I am too used to writing to you to stop, although I won't mail the letters anymore.

 

I wish I could tell you of my curse.

 

I wish you could help me find a way to break it. Then we would wed and live happily ever after.

~*~

 

Dame Olga knows of the curse--well, she knows that I obey orders, if she does not know the why or how. Upon learning that Father does not have the money she hoped to marry into, she made me move my things into the servants' wing.

 

Would it change your mind and your heart to know you have asked a scullery maid for her hand in marriage? I spend my days covered in dirt and soot and wear worn rags for clothing.

 

The palace would have the best tended fires in Frell.

~*~

 

Hattie continues to be dreadful. She is convinced that an Earl who came to dinner is madly in love with her, because he listened to her talk for nearly an hour. The truth is, he fell asleep and Hattie--being herself--did not notice.

 

Oh, Char, how I miss you. Your voice, your handwriting, your laughter, your words. I want to hear of the Sings you have attended and how you are bored to distraction by the Ayorthian silence of the nobles. I want to beg your forgiveness and hear you declare your love for me.

~*~

 

Mandy is my fairy godmother, but she refuses to do big magic. She will only do small kitchen magic, if she's in a particularly daring mood. She is the best cook in all of Frell, and she is as dear to me as you are--if we wed, I would ask her to come with us to the palace; are you terribly attached to your head cook, my dear? Once you have tasted Mandy's cooking, you won't be.

 

There is a healing soup Mandy makes, using unicorn hair. Mother died because she removed the hair before eating her soup; Mandy ordered me to keep mine in, or I would have done the same. I don't speak often of Mother's death, to anyone. All this time, and I find it difficult to even write this much. I miss her terribly.

 

Will it be like this with you? Will I come to think of you with the same deep ache in my chest? It is already starting, I fear. I long for you, and for the end to this curse.

~*~

 

I believe I was in love with you before you left for Ayortha, Char. It is difficult to put a beginning to it; it is as if I have always loved you, have always had you in my life.

 

I sometimes forget that this is no longer the case.

~*~

 

When you left for Ayortha, I thought a year was forever. Then we began sharing letters, and I waited anxiously for the post every day. When I received your letter, I opened it as soon as I could and devoured your words.

 

I never knew how to answer your inquiries about marriage. What I _wanted_, especially as we continued to share letters and I came to know your faults and your heart, was to tell you how I was falling in love with you, more and more with every word on the page. I wanted to write "yes, I am the perfect age to marry today." But I feared losing you. I was afraid that you were jesting when you asked those questions, and that in answering honestly I would lose your friendship and the ease with which we conversed.

 

I have never been happier than when I received the letter declaring your love for me, and I have never been more miserable than when I realized that I can never marry you.

 

I will break this curse, Char. I will find a way. And we will wed. We will be happy. I will no longer be Dame Olga's scullery maid, and Hattie's personal servant and Olive's money counter. I would marry you if you had no title and no wealth and lived in a hovel, making your living raising pigs and cows. If I could marry you, I would remain in Dame Olga's servitude for the rest of my life, happily--because I would have you in it.

 

I miss you. I wish you would return. Here is a foolish daydream for you--I wish that you would return home and seek me out, that perhaps you are so angry with me that you cannot help but wish to confront me, to call me a minx and a liar to my face. And when you arrive at my home--expecting to ask Hattie for my present address--I will answer the door and you will see what has become of me. In my wildest imaginings, you even understand immediately that I _must_ be cursed. In my more realistic ones, you believe that Hattie must have intercepted my letter and _she_ lied to you about my marriage. Perhaps you will be so angry with Dame Olga for making me a servant in my own home--and at Hattie for keeping me from you--that you will send them far away, while commanding me to marry you and live happily for the rest of our lives.

 

And together, we find a way to break the curse. You will help me, and I will do it--for you. For our future. For Frell.

 

I hate that I have hurt you.

~*~

 

I have been thinking about what I will do when I break the curse. I have decided that I will break it. I will find a way, if it is the last thing I do--although I hope it is not, for I have grand plans for my future freedom.

 

I will take my mother's necklace back from Hattie and my money back from Olive, and I will stop serving Dame Olga. I will take Mandy with me and we shall come to Ayortha to find you. Perhaps we shall stay with Areida.

 

No. It may take longer to break the curse--realistically, it will certainly take longer. You will be returning to Frell shortly, my love. I will break the curse.

 

I will make you happy. I will spend every day making you happy.

 

My first act will be to confess that I love you. I'll beg pardon a thousand times for causing you unhappiness and make reparations by making you laugh a thousand times.


End file.
